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First draft of our second poetry assignment for Creative Writing, required to be in some way inspired by John Berryman's Dream Song 14. Dated: 09/22/2021
You know that train I was talking about? I think it took a wrong turn Cuz now i just feel misplaced Like i don’t belong here
If i jumped on a train Where would it take me? How far would I ride it? Would I be free? A passenger on its many painted boxcars
Train rumbles eastward Rain in the darkness falling Cold windows and hands
My train is always speeding; thundering down the track at full speed. It heads nowhere in particular. Whenever it stops to unload a thousand passengers, a thousand more board. Most are unwelcome.
Sky Fades Away String are left to decay Trails end, rails bend Suddenly time melts away I was on the train to New Orleans When I saw a girl that was in my dreams
I lost my heart in Paris, To one I hardly know, Around a lovely terrace, Again there I must go. I haven't long to find it, my very life is chased,
Before I knew it I darted towards her like a train. Barreling toward her fast as I could. Inhaling deep, releasing deep huff. The rumble of what came to be manifested before I was seen.
Once upon a time, when life was a dream and life was on the line, with a train losing steam, being lost wasn't fine, yelling "I don't know what's mine" rather lose track than lose my mind,
How do you sleep with so much in your head like a train circulating a mountain, full speed it's hard for you to go to bed like a victim fighting to be freed my mind gives me no peace
Chug-a, chug-a, chug-a, chug You fall behind, you're out of luck. Brute mechanisms all in place to stay on track & win the race, They work in time and go in sync so you'll go far, or so you think.
They lined the station like tchotchkes placed in careful disarray, Here between F and 13th, Red cheeked and frosted breath, Bare porcelain angels waiting on the shelf of a Goodwill.
*/ /*-->*/ There lay a derailed train,
I sit inside and Let the world hurry by.
Life is like a train,
If my heart were a train I wouldn't call her Thomas Thomas was plucky and steady And she feels like the shakiest thing about me. If I'm lucky She's on the tracks this week
Would a filter be typing? Would a filter mean no erasing? Does that mean I can't correct my grammar? I'm going to give you the realest me there is, no bullsh*t. Well, to begin, my appearance.
I. in Appleton, Wisconsin, there is a boy named Cael who dreams of Copenhagen and draws demonic flamingo. his spine is curled the wrong way from countless years of binding.
She sits on a train, trapped, without power, Reaching speeds of one hundred miles an hour. Her future a dream, destination untold, All she knows is she’s stuck, there, on that road.
Trains Steady and strong, a titanic of force and power The gears and cogs inside mathematically precise Oh how marvelous a machine! The earth trembles as it approaches
"I would see you fail Before I'd let us both succeed," Thought one line of track To the other, As the train was derailed.
Each car passes slower and slower linked in a tangle of iron and motion. I could reach out and touch it. There are words painted in bright colors on the sides of each car,